


Curiosity Killed the Kraken

by ohmytheon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Gen, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmytheon/pseuds/ohmytheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rather embarrassing moment between Theon Greyjoy and Catelyn Stark leads to an equally intense and vivid encounter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also sorry for this, especially the second part, but then I'm not because it made me laugh so much while writing it. Thank you, fic requesters, for the best type of crack pairings and allowing my imagination to run wild.

He’d always been a curious lad.

Of course, that nature had to stop for a while when he’d first been taken to Winterfell. Most people didn’t know, but he never left the castle his first year there. He never toured the grounds or rode a horse around the land. He barely left his room and only did if he had to or if Lord Stark commanded it. For the most part though, Eddard Stark let him be and allowed him to hide in the room given to him, where he’d lie in bed and sulk and dream about his parents and sister and dead brothers. He dreamed of the sea most of all in those years, so much so that there were nights when he’d woken up in a sweat, the sea in his dreams swallowing him whole and holding him under. It had been cold at Pyke, but the sea had also brought warmth. There was no warmth in Winterfell or the North, none at all that he could find.

However, as time progressed, he began to grow bolder or perhaps more comfortable with his surroundings. Ser Rodrik allowed him to practice with the swords, though he’d nervously pointed out that he was more adept with a bow or an axe. He started to roam the castle a bit more and when Eddard Stark went on a ride, he’d accompany him. He’d learned quite quickly that he wasn’t nearly as good on a horse as these Northerners, but he was very determined and learned quickly enough. Soon, he was riding just as good as any of them. And as Robb grew older, they became friends. He hadn’t wanted to be friends with the heir of Winterfell, but the boy was honest and kind-hearted. He never said the word “prisoner;” he only ever used the word “ward” and even then very rarely. They’d spare in the courtyard and he gave Robb extra lessons on how to shoot an arrow.

Years later, Theon Greyjoy could almost call Winterfell home.

Almost, but not quite.

Still, his curious nature won out every now and then, and he couldn’t hold it in. Now that he was older, a man grown at ten and eight, he was able to more or less walk through Winterfell all on his own. No one particularly trusted him – he knew that – but they trusted him not to run away. He almost stopped thinking about it.

Instead, he ran around the castle, free to do whatever he pleased once any chores were done. Robb was off having lessons with Maester Luwin about something or another and Lord Eddard was listening to the matters of the smallfolk, so Theon had thought to have a little bit of fun. After checking quickly that no one else was in the godswood, especially neither of the Stark girls, Theon stripped down and slipped into one of the hot springs. He blew out some air once submerged up to his neck. Though they worshipped the Drowned God on the Iron Islands, Theon had always liked the godswood, if only for the hot springs. Robb had abhorred the idea at first, but after a bit of persuasion, he’d managed to convince him to swim in them. Sure, during the summer, they could swim in the lakes and creeks on the grounds, but nothing felt quite as good as the hot water lapping against his skin, especially after a particularly difficult sword playing lesson with Ser Rodrik.

Theon wasn’t sure how long he was in there. At first, he just lounged in the water, leaning his head back against a mossy rock. Then, he swam around in the water, remembering how he’d learned to swim in the sea. There was no salt in the hot springs, but if he got water in his mouth on accident, he could almost taste the salt. His oldest brother Rodrik had pushed him into a deep pool of water when he was two, claiming that it would teach him how to swim. He would’ve drowned had Asha not jumped in and saved him. After that, his brother Maron had taught him how to swim. When he’d been little, he’d credited his ability to hold his breath under water for so long to Rodrik, which Asha had scoffed at.

Once an hour or so had passed, Theon decided to get dressed and find Robb. Surely his lessons were done now. They could go for a ride around the grounds. Bran would want to come too, but Theon didn’t really mind the boy as much as he pretended in front of everyone. Besides, Bran joining them was better than Jon Snow joining them. That moody bastard always made riding aggravating with his morose nature.

Theon pulled himself out of the hot springs, completely disregarding the swarm of cold air touching his skin. He had nothing to be ashamed of besides and had never really worried about people seeing him. He’d been with girls before and none of them had complained. He’d been scrawny as a boy, but now he was a man grown with a man’s body. He walked over to his pile of clothes, water dripping, and began to ruffle around the pile for his trousers.

“Seven hells! Theon Greyjoy!”

The voice almost made Theon jump out of his skin and he jerked his shirt to cover himself. When he looked up, he found none other than the Lady of Winterfell, Catelyn Stark, standing before him. Her cheeks were as red as her hair, and she had her hands over her eyes, not to blind herself but more to cover her embarrassment at happening upon him naked.

“You swore, my lady,” was the only thing that Theon could manage to say. He’d never heard her swear before. Whenever Arya did or one of the boys, she always reprimanded them. It was quite strange hearing the words from her, but even stranger seeing her so flustered.

For a moment, neither of them seemed to know what to do. They just stood there in silence, not moving at all. Theon glanced around the godswood, but his eyes stopped when they landed on her again. It was a particularly hot day for the North, so she was wearing a dress closer to what women in the South might wear, ever so slightly more revealing of her feminine body. Though she had over ten years on him, Catelyn Stark had always been a beautiful woman. He could still remember the day he’d first seen her. He’d been nine, riding up behind Eddard Stark from after the Greyjoy Rebellion’s defeat. She’d been waiting patiently for her lord husband, and Theon had been struck by how young and beautiful she was. Even now and then, he’d sneak a glance at her and smirk to himself, wondering if she was nearly as proper in bed with Lord Stark as she was in public. He doubted it. They had five kids, so she must have been something magical in bed to coax cold Eddard Stark into having sex.

Theon smiled, more agitated than happy, and closed his eyes. Despite the awkward and humiliating situation, he was hard as ever under the shirt he was using to cover his cock. Now was certainly not the time for _that_.

“I’m leaving,” Lady Catelyn finally said, pulling her hand away from her flushed face. “You should get dressed and do the same.”

“Yes, my lady.” Theon dropped the shirt to the ground, leaving him completely exposed to her view again, so that he could bend and pick up his trousers.

Lady Catelyn made a muffled huffing sound. “ _Theon_.”

He stopped and looked up at her, holding his pants. “Yes?”

“We shouldn’t speak of this _ever_ ,” she stressed, doing her best not to look flushed.

He nodded his head and watched as she turned on her heels and stormed out of the godswood. Theon couldn’t help but chuckle and smile to himself as he pulled his clothes back on. When he saw her later that day, she turned red again and refused to look at him. Robb had been a bit confused about why his mother had insisted on leaving dinner early, but Theon had said nothing. It would take her months before she could look at him straight again. Well, at least she’d have something new to think about when she was in bed with her husband.


	2. Expectations Vs. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon has a very intense and unusual encounter with the Lady of Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I still laugh that I wrote this. Everyone should know that I was kind of drunk when I did, so pardon me.

Wenches could only get him so far.

That was what Theon had told Robb the other night, mostly as a joke. The heir to Winterfell could be so stuck up sometimes. Oh, sure, he could talk game and say that he was going to join Theon on one of his trips to the alehouse outside the gates of Winterfell, but he never did. He’d always chicken out in the end. It was only natural, Theon reasoned; after all, whereas Theon was a man grown of nine and ten, Robb was just shy of five and ten. They may have been best friends, but Robb was still such a boy sometimes.

Still, while Theon may have enjoyed his trips to town to get his rocks off, there were times when he earned for a real woman. Well, of course, these whores were women and they were real enough, but even if they did moan underneath him, he wasn’t entirely fool enough to not realize that they were at least acting on some part. When he first started coming, he’d actually thought they enjoyed it, but now he knew that he had to make them enjoy it. He wasn’t paying them for their acting; he was paying to get pleasured.

Nonetheless, there was something satisfying about the way when a whore actually got something out of it. He’d learned to tell the difference between a fake coming and real coming. Sometimes, he even went out of his way to make sure they enjoyed it more than usual. He liked touching them and liked the way they responded to his touch. He’d go weeks with only being selfish; and then he’d surprise them and they’d jump at his touch. Most men don’t consider pleasuring a whore when they’re the ones paying to get pleasured, but a sense of pride would fill him up when he did. It was just that, in the end, he was paying these women to sleep with him, so there was a false pretense to the whole thing right from the beginning.

Every now and then, he yearned for a woman that came to him willingly, with no need of coin.

Of course, he’d never tell that to someone without smiling and laughing. He didn’t want people to think him weak.

After supper, he’d considered going into town. He hadn’t visited the alehouse in a while; and his hand was only as good as his imagination. However, he just didn’t have the desire to spend coin or go out of his way. And he’d fucked all the pretty ones plenty of times. He wished a new girl would come around, one that could spark his interest for more than a night or two. Even their best girl had become to bore him. He learned all their tricks early on: what they preferred to do, how they tried to mimic his body movements, how they all blurred into the same girl halfway through. They were all the same in the end, all whores that wanted his coin and not his cock.

Just the thought of it disgruntled Theon; and he excused himself to his chambers after downing the rest of his wine. Robb had seemed startled at Theon’s sudden moodiness, but he hadn’t made any inquiries. He’d just let Theon get up and stalk out of the room. Supper was strained anyways. No matter how hard Robb tried, Theon never truly felt like he fit sitting at the Stark dinner table. He’d sooner eat alone and did for the most part, except when Robb conned him into joining them.

 _Captives have no place at their captor’s table,_ Theon thought sourly as he entered his bedroom and shut the door.

Without wasting time, he began to strip. For being in the North, Winterfell was always so hot, seeing as how it was situated above hot springs. He kicked his boots off, tore off the leather jerkin, tossed his shirt against the wall, and got out of his pants quickly enough. Northern-styled clothing was so much more complicated than the clothes he’d worn as a boy at Pyke. Soon enough, he was lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, hands folded behind his head, completely naked. He liked sleeping this way. It made him feel fresh and free. And there weren’t many times when he felt free, not if he were truly honest with himself. He listened to the sound of his breathing, willing himself not to think about anything, and closed his eyes just for a moment, trying to picture anything but Winterfell or Pyke or anywhere or anyone.

His eyes suddenly jerk open when he hears a quiet knock on his door. “Go away!” he snaps, shutting his eyes again out of anger.

The door opens though; and he can hear someone slip inside his room and then quietly shut the door behind them. _I bet it’s Robb, come to ask me what my problem is,_ he thinks, reflecting on how he should put on clothes but he can’t be bothered. If Robb is going to get all flustered about it, then that’s his problem. Theon himself has never been ashamed of his body and doesn’t rightly care if anyone gets embarrassed.

It’s when he feels a dip in his bed from someone lightly sitting next to him that he realizes that he’s completely wrong about who’s in his room. Robb would never do something as bold as that. He’d stand aside, cough, and politely grumble that Theon should pull on his breeches or ask why Theon is being such an ass tonight. The realization that he has no idea just who is in his room and sitting on his bed that he’s lying naked on is actually quite unsettling.

What greets him when he opens his eyes is a hell of a lot more unsettling than anything he could have anticipated.

Because it’s Lady Catelyn Stark that is in his bedroom; and she’s never once been in his chambers; and he’s in his name day clothes.

Theon jumps, sitting up and scooting back away from the Lady of Winterfell as quick as he can. Suddenly, he’s horribly embarrassed that he’s naked, something he’s never felt before. He scratches for something to cover him, but he’s sitting on the blankets, so all he can do is grab a pillow to cover himself with.

She smiles; and it’s a strange smile, filled with comfort and ease that does not fit with the situation. “I came to check on you,” she simply says, as if that’s all she needs to say. No, she needs to say a lot more, like why she thought it was perfectly normal to sit next to him when he was naked, when her husband was sleeping on the other side of the castle. Her husband that would surely swipe Theon’s head off if he knew this had even happened, even if it wasn’t Theon’s fault. “You’ve been so…distant with everyone recently, so off.”

He finds that his mouth is dry, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. Honestly, he didn’t think anyone would notice, much less Catelyn Stark, and he’s not sure what to think to know that she has noticed. He doesn’t even know why he’s been feeling so downcast lately, but it has apparently made a very strong impression on her. “I’m tired,” he mutters, because it’s all he can think to say.

“For weeks on end?” She arches a delicate eyebrow and then her eyes rove over him. He becomes so acutely aware of her gaze on him; and the hairs rise on his arm. What the hell is going on? “I think not. You’ve seemed very…restless.”

Yes, restless, that’s a good word for it. He nods his head. Yes, yes, he’s felt very restless in the past few weeks, and he hates feeling that way, like he’s got an itch that he can’t scratch or a thought that he can’t escape from or a word on the tip of his tongue that he just can’t find.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asks him, and the way she says it is enough to make his head spin, all low and careful, like only he is meant to hear. He looks at her, really looks at her for the first time while she’s looking back, and he can’t help but appreciate her looks. He’s been with older women before, not just whores, and there’s something quiet special about them, the way they’re self-assured and know what they’re doing but not so mechanical about it, not trying to force something out of him so they might get paid more. “I just want to make your stay here comfortable.”

 _My life is comfortable here,_ he wants to say. _You should probably leave,_ he tries to tell her. But instead he’s just staring at her lips, pink lips, and he thinks, not for the first time, that they look so soft compared to most women’s. Tries not to think about they might feel like around his cock. Tries and abhorrently fails.

When she lays a hand on his leg, right above his knee, he goes completely rigid. “I’ve seen you looking at me,” she tells him. _Shit,_ he thinks. _Shit, shit, shit._ Because he’s already getting a hard on under this pillow and that feels more dangerous than anything he’s ever done before. There’s nothing he can think of to take it away either. She leans in close, sliding her hand up his thigh, under the pillow, and in a husky voice that he can’t believe he’s hearing, she says, “I’ve been thinking about you since I caught you naked in the godswood.”

And when she grabs hold of his hardening length and slowly begins to pump him, he grits his teeth and leans his head on the backboard and utters a very uncouth, very loud, “ _Fuck_.”

It’s different than any other woman’s touch. Her hands are soft, her touch almost too gentle, but it’s a light touch that manages to drive him completely mad even more so because he wants more, craves more, demands more. He grips his sheets tightly at his side, almost tearing them, as he tries to fight his body’s urge to just let loose. His whole body is tense and almost shaking. Catelyn Stark has his dick in her hands and she’s working him with such grace that it’s almost laughable. She _would_ be graceful at this even. When she quickens the pace and pumps him faster, he can’t stifle the groan from sliding out of his mouth, can’t stop himself from reaching out for her blindly because if she gets to touch, then he wants to touch. It’s not like he’s never thought about her, never wondered what she was like. She might be older, but she’s plenty beautiful still and he wants her all the same.

He pulls her closer to him, and she gets on the bed completely, crawling towards him until she’s in his lap, pillow tossed aside, and her hand is between them, still working on him. Sitting up, he kisses her on the neck and isn’t surprised to find that her skin is already hot. As he works to get her clothes off, because the odds are far too against him, he kisses her lips – and they are just as soft as he imagined. Her mouth is hot and wet and her tongue is needy as it fights with his. She tastes sweet. He can feel her breasts under the layers of clothing; and he’s frustrated that he can’t get to them easily. He pulls at them, tugs at the strings, and she squirms in his lap.

Now that he’s a man grown, it’s startling to find that this woman, a woman that once scared even him, is smaller than he is. He can still remember when he was a child and she was taller and foreboding, frowning at his presence because she didn’t know what to make of him. Now she knows what to make of him. He’s a man.

When he finally, somehow, manages to expose her breasts to his view, he practically growls, having been so frustrated before. They’re larger than he expected, but it must be because her Northern clothes hide her shape. He imagines that when she was young and lived in the Riverlands, she wore different clothing that exposed her budding breasts. If she was enticing now, he couldn’t imagine what she had looked when she was his age. Ned Stark was one lucky bastard. She gasps under his touch as he explores this new skin with his hands and then with his mouth, sucking on her, wanting to taste every inch of her. Her breath hitches and her whole body shakes. Yes, this is exactly what he wants. He wants her to respond to him, not just react like it was expected of her. He wants her to be shocked with his boldness. It’s for this reason that he slides one hand over her leg to touch her small clothes.

Only to find out that she isn’t wearing any.

“Fuck,” he can’t help but say again.

When he sweeps a finger over her, gently so, she immediately jumps at his touch, clearly shocked. He begins to rub her, slowly, building her up, and he catches her whimpers into his mouth. Her hand that had been sliding up and down his shaft comes to a stop, but he doesn’t care. He finds it far too exciting to feel her respond to his touches. She moves with his hand, needling him for more, and he’s only happy to oblige. Her breaths come out in gasps as he palms up, rubbing her clit with his thumb, as he slides a finger in her. _She’s so fucking wet,_ he thinks, head spinning, as she moans into his mouth. Actual moaning, not fake moaning, the kind of moaning that speaks of wants and desires kept in the dark.

He can feel her muscles tightening around her, feel the way she begins to twitch, and he knows she’s close, actually close, not fake close. “Theon,” she pants into his ear as she nibbles on it. “Theon, please.” And then she’s coming, her orgasm rolling in waves, and he’s working her fast and hard because her hips are moving into his hand all demanding-like; and she has to hide her moan by biting into his shoulder.

Theon wastes no time after that. He pulls his hand away from her and slides his hands under her ass. He squeezes her once before sitting up further and flipping them over, so that her back on his bed, her stunning red hair splayed against his pillow, her cheeks rosy, and he’s on top, towering over her. He shoves her skirts up, positions himself, and pushes himself inside her in a matter of frenzied seconds. She bites her lip not to cry out at the sudden intrusion, but soon enough, she’s pushing her hips up to meet his. There’s no time for him to think, not when her walls are squeezing him so tightly, and she’s wrapping her legs around him. Even from the bottom, she is demanding. He hastens his strokes, grabbing her legs and pulling himself to his knees, so that her bottom isn’t even on the ground, and he’s pushing himself in her deeper and harder.

It’s when she starts to stroke herself that he begins to lose it. Most of the time, he would’ve slapped the woman’s hand away, but he finds it so hot that she’s comfortable and confident enough to touch herself in front of him. He can feel himself reaching that point, and he’s breathing heavy and sweating and his muscles are strained and he doesn’t care about anything anymore. She’s moaning, and she’s coming again, tightening around him, and his breath becomes choked, his eyes shut tight, and his body begins to seize, right fucking there, coming, into her, everywhere, gods

“Theon!” Yes. “ _Theon_!” _Yes._ “THEON!”

Theon startled awake so badly that he nearly fell off his bed. When he sat up, he found himself in his room, naked.

And very much alone.

When he glanced down, he saw that his dick was still hard as a rock.

With a groan, he threw himself back down on his bed. He glared at the door. “What?”

“I want to learn how to shoot a bow, but Robb won’t teach me! He says he’s busy!” It was Arya Stark, of all people. Theon didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or die. For some reason or another, the girl always had a way with waking him up during his best dreams. It was almost like she knew and enjoyed it. “Come out and teach me!”

Gritting his teeth and knowing that there was no way he’d be able to get back into that dream, Theon asked, “Why should I?” already knowing that he would undoubtedly show her at least a few things. At least she seemed to appreciate his natural skill with a bow.

“I’ll pay you!” she shouted. “That way you can go see that one red-haired whore you like so much tomorrow.”

Theon couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face.


End file.
